


you've got a strange effect on me (and i deny it)

by unusual_cliche



Series: Villaneve Colour AU [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, F/F, Killing Eve (TV 2018) Season/Series 01, Killing Eve (TV 2018) Season/Series 02, Killing Eve (TV 2018) Season/Series 03, Killing Eve Week 2020, because S3 was soft as bunnies, day one: soulmates, day three: soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unusual_cliche/pseuds/unusual_cliche
Summary: "How ironic that Eve’s world was filled with colour precisely when she felt most empty inside." - It's the one where people don't see colour until they meet their soulmate.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Villaneve Colour AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905037
Comments: 16
Kudos: 67
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	1. Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Jaina47 for taking a look at the first chapter of this and to badwolfkaily for coming up with Killing Eve Week and taking the time to put it all together.
> 
> Also, I'd like to shout out two of my favourite authors, alanabloom and coalitiongirl, for writing wonderful stories based on this particular brand of soulmate AU and inspiring me as I tried to get over a ten year old writer's blog.

If Eve was honest with herself, she’d admit to dreaming about it once upon a time. Maybe somewhere between the ages of three and seven, when Santa and the tooth fairy and the easter bunny all shared space in her imagination (and, embarrassingly, manifested themselves in some terrible drawings too). But they don’t call seven the age of reason for nothing, and little Eve realized that - in an ever growing world of over four billion people - it was very unlikely anyone was meant to be with just one other person, just like it was unlikely any old man would be able to cross the globe in a single night to deliver presents for bratty children everywhere. (And, really, why did the brattiest ones always get more expensive gifts than the nice ones?)

So Eve was an early bloomer, an early thinker and reason took over every aspect of her life. It did come in handy.

Reason helped her understand that divorces were better than being stuck in the middle of an unhappy marriage.

Reason made her come to grips with moving to a different country, with uprooting her entire life and leaving all her friends behind. 

Reason could explain alway why she had to study when all she wanted to do was play outside on a sunny day, why she had to practice piano every week before her next lesson, why she couldn’t act upon her instinct to lunge at Daphne’s throat when that snob from fourth grade decided to pick on her because she didn’t look like all the other girls.

And, of course, reason led her to marry a warm, nice, perfectly normal guy when the opportunity showed itself. 

So reason was good to Eve, and she praised herself on how reasonable she was her whole life. But, sadly, it didn’t explain everything...

It still wasn’t able to explain the concept of colour. Yes, science had come up with a patched up explanation about specific photoreceptor cells responsible for colour vision - known as cones - being activated by the release of a precise combination of love hormones such as oxytocin and serotonin in the bloodstream. It’s such a scientific move, to keep repeating well-known facts about any given phenomenon in scholarly terms, seldom adding anything new to the equation. 

How much oxytocin was needed? 

How much serotonin? 

Were there other hormones involved? 

How did it happen? 

Was there any proof? 

Needless to say, fifteen year old Eve was very disappointed to find no solid answers to these questions. She was also disappointed to find a similar void of answers whenever she tried to understand why she was so fascinated by extremely cunning violent women. (That, or she just didn’t like the answers she did find.)

But, all in all, reason was her friend, so she erased all its flaws from her conscious mind.

***

That’s why she genuinely did not realize what was happening.

One minute she was looking in the mirror, pondering whether she should tie up her hair or not while waiting to use the loo, and the next she was looking at the most interesting face she’d ever seen. She’d been enchanted by it, could not tear her eyes alway from that nurses’ face until she had memorized every single detail the bad bathroom lighting allowed her to. She was absolutely enamoured by her. (To the point of listening to her when she was told to wear her hair down, even though it was much less comfortable, what with a full day at work leaving it unkempt and full of dreadful, invisible knots.)

But she still didn’t see it.

Therefore she was able to go on with her night as normal: talk to Bill while sitting on the loo, get out to find too many dead people in that hospital room - she even had the privilege of watching the life drain from poor Kasia’s eyes -, and get fired. All in a day’s work right? Huh, maybe these events should have alerted Eve to the possibility that she wasn’t the reasonable girl she’d always praised herself to be. And perhaps then she might have realized what made the nurse so inherently different was mainly **colour**.

Yet, she was so guarded, so separate from her innermost thoughts and feelings, she not only did not grasp how colourful her experience was, but didn’t allow for any of it to bleed into her life. Everything else was still... grey. Good luck getting science to explain that, right?

_Still, she might have glimpsed something strangely thrilling, oddly alive about the blood spilling from Kasia’s throat._

***

Obviously, Eve didn’t need colour in order to be completely obsessed with the woman. Everything she figured out about her nurse-turned-assassin gave her an undeniable thrill, and she followed that feeling with unrecognizable abandon, even as she watched every foundation she’d build her life on begin to crumble. Nothing seemed to be able to ground her or tether her to normalcy and reason anymore. She should have known better. Isn’t it common knowledge that the tighter you suppress something within, the greater the force of its outcome? Having her name linked to the killer wasn’t enough to warn her, nor were Niko’s complaints. Even smashing the glass from the bus stop wasn’t enough. 

Neither was Bill’s death, dammit.

She still stopped the car and wore the clothes, the shoes, the perfume. She still couldn’t look away from the woman’s unique vibrancy.

***

It was frightening, how fast her whole life ended up revolving around Oksana Astankova, a.k.a. Villanelle. All of a sudden she was following feeble clues to Russia, identifying her through unclear security camera footage (it had been easy, with how much she standed out from the background), blackmailing her boss's old lover just to get to her. 

Nevermind how many jumps her once reasonable self had to make to justify the uncomfortable tightness in her chest after her conversation with Anna. She couldn’t really explain begging the assassin to _“come with me, just you and me”_ , though.

Hence her almost four decade long partnership with reason meeting its demise that day, the second she decided to switch planes and go to Paris. Nevertheless, Eve still bought such a ticket in black and white, greeted the fly attendant in black and white, and looked for her apartment in black and white. Fooled an old lady in black and white. Destroyed said apartment in black and white.

The feelings she’d suppressed the last few weeks (or was it her lifetime?) were finally coming out with an unstoppable force. There was simply no way of pulling herself together, she was undone. Then she heard the already familiar russian accent ask if she’d had a party and they stopped coming out in destructive form, turning into words instead:

_“I have lost two jobs, a husband and a best friend because of you.”_

that somehow turned into…

_“I think about you all the time…”_

The sheer brightness coming from Villanelle was enough to hurt her eyes, leading Eve to eventually close them, the adrenaline washed away by complete relief. Opening her eyes a few moments later, after having been reassured she wouldn’t be murdered, brought back the overwhelming brightness that clouded her judgement, leaving her on a high she couldn’t escape. At that precise moment she wasn’t merely someone’s friend or wife. No, she was a Goddess; thus, naturally, she had every right to use the blade she’d taken from the closet and punish this simple human in front of her for the crimes she committed.

This manic state of mind carried her through the motions of pushing the blade in and sitting up above her. Who knows what might’ve happened hadn’t Villanelle given Eve such a heartbroken look? Hadn't followed it with a whispered _I really liked_ _you_? In this course of events, though, former sensible, level headed Eve finally noticed how the brightness in her eyes wasn’t just light. It was something else entirely. 

But… It couldn’t be. Could it? 

(Hah! Give it to Eve to have an actual psychopath for a soulmate.)

She panicked. The **red** of the blood in her hands after the blade was removed was both familiar and horrifying and if she wasn’t so scared she would have noticed it wasn’t the only thing spreading everywhere.

How ironic that Eve’s world was filled with colour precisely when she felt most empty inside.


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "(...) all eve could see was anger and passion and violence and desire and blood. All Eve could see was red."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Jaina47 for taking a look at the beginning of this chapter as well. Most mistakes are probably mine, though!
> 
> (who even cares about a balanced word count per charpter? Not me!)

Before, when she still had Bill and a somewhat regular job, she would have delighted in that discovery. She could even picture herself and Bill and Elena at that same karaoke bar they’d gone to for Bill’s last birthday, blurting such news with badly disguised wonder, her “well balanced person” mask dropping ever so slightly at each drink she downed. (She’d learned to mask her unnatural inclinations during her adolescence, as most people do, after one too many disgusted looks from her peers.) 

She was stuck in the after, though. What she wouldn’t give to go back to before. She’d been looking for answers from Villanelle, wanting so intensely to understand what made her tick, just so, maybe, she’d be able to find herself too in the process. She had answers now, but she didn’t want them anymore. Because the after meant...

… after being fired from the job she had for decades just in time to be hired to actively find an international assassin she’d been obsessing over in her free time.

… after losing her best friend to said obsession and finding out it was her soulmate all along.

Her soulmate, who killed her best friend.

_Her soulmate who she might have just killed._

(Maybe she was the actual villain of this story. After all, Villanelle may have killed many but even she had spared her own soulmate. And she got stabbed in return.)

The crushing feeling threatening to undo her from inside got tighter and tighter, no matter how much she tried to distract herself from it: by recurring to her usual sugar rush she’d gotten dizzy with all the new overly saturated colors; by physically punishing herself with a pen she’d gotten flashbacks of a richer, redder and far more abundant blood gushing from a wider wound; by getting on the train, she had sat precisely where a heart had been carved on the table; by trying to hold onto the faintest bits of normalcy and make dinner she’d gotten proof of how much she’d damaged her marriage. All that just to… what? 

… do her job? 

… follow her passion?

… look for a soulmate she’d long given up finding?

Turning her head down to look at her - potentially murderous - hands was yet another failed distraction.

***

As it turned out, the only way out of that stunned state of apathetic despair was being pulled back in. (Well, that and buying a ridiculous amount of new windows). And if we went back to Eve being honest with herself, she’d have to admit that making sure Villanelle was alive was her first and foremost driving force for a while. That didn’t happen very often though, as her missed soulmate identification can attest to. So to know the truth one would have to have access to her google - or rather bing? - history, full with variations of “news of woman stabbed in paris”, but also “can you still see color after your soulmate’s died?”. 

She justified how much easier she could breathe after finding mostly negative answers to the last question by telling herself she was just afraid of being a murderer. Truly, Eve was one of those people who could turn self-deception into an art of its own and anyone could see how good she was at compartmentalizing. Nevertheless, her first instinct upon seeing good old - familiar - Kenny in the MI6 office was blurting out _all_ of it:

_“I found her… I found Villanelle”_ , followed by _“Kenny-I, I stabbed her.”_

Then came his unsurprising response of...

_“Wha-WHAT?! Oh my God, Eve! Is she dead?”_

Which finally pulled some honesty out of Eve.

_“I don’t know, I don’t know, she disappeared! But I don’t think so…”_

And his blank expectant face was exactly what she needed to keep going.

The relief she felt at sharing it with another human being was only matched by discovering which hospital the killer was in and, later, by the call she got from Carolyn informing Eve of Villanelle’s likely current location. That relief she couldn’t begin to justify. (Gabriel’s murder wasn’t even a blip on her radar, so distracted was she by the red of the bitten apple purposefully placed in the picture.)

***

Seeing Konstantin in color was as much a surprise to Eve as was seeing him alive. Not that it made him more interesting... no, that still seemed to be unique to Villanelle. Especially after he’d started going on about how damaged and dangerous and harmful she was to Eve’s psyche. (The desire to defend her by telling him Oksana had already given her as much as she’d taken away crept up at her, leaving her even angrier at both of them.) What seeing him did awaken in Eve was the urge to see Villanelle, because, suddenly - miraculously - that seemed like a more feasible feat. Still, after seeing how wrong things could go when one gave up reason entirely, she decided to keep going through the motions, hoping her new colourful life would eventually start feeling normal again. Stubbornly, she made sure to keep her clothing as monochromatic as usual because she figured it was the nice thing to do in a marriage (even if it wasn’t the right thing). For someone who’d spent her whole life pretending, that seemed like an easy enough compromise to make. 

Unfortunately for her, her husband didn’t share her views on this subject, deciding to confess the day, after their little teacher’s gathering, that he’d first seen colour last year, the day Gemma started working at the school. The way he’d weeped guiltily about not having the right to be angry when he’d betrayed her in a much more terrible way made her sick to the stomach. Especially after weeks of being unable to even glimpse at a bit of **red** without obsessing about her own soulmate and her murderous tendencies.

Though, a part of Eve argued, it wasn’t just the colour, but the apple which pulled her attention that last time.

Then the ludicrous lipstick (and the **blood** it brought) followed. 

That night saw Eve tonging at her lipcut, again out of bed, trying to make sense of the sea of _guilt_ , _desperation_ , _longing_ , _understanding_ , _sadness_ , _anger_...

The consequence of such sleepless nights was that reason had seemed less appealing than ever. So what if she’d had to once again retreat to her unreasonable side, betraying her boss - again - and blackmailing Konstantin. They both probably deserved it anyway. (She definitely didn’t allow herself to ponder on how undeserving Kenny was of her treatment of him). If only she’d known that it would be all for nothing. 

Oh God, she probably would have done it either way...

***

In the end, having Carolyn force her into making the sensible choice and throw herself fully into the Ghost investigation for a while was, in fact, a relief. At work, at least.

***

For a while it had been fun, getting lost in another investigation. It was reassuring to know her capability wasn’t subjected to finding only assassins who happened to be her soulmate. It also made for a great cover, allowing her to defend herself from Niko’s neverending accusations. So it had been fun, up until the day the “expert” on psychopaths showed up to give them all a lecture on their bountiful limitations.

_“...don’t add. Take away everything that makes us human - just take it all away.”_

She could barely sit through the godawful presentation, her wonderful compartmentalising abilities notwithstanding. They did, however, allow her to bite her tongue just in time as to not pointedly ask whether they were able to have soulmates. It would’ve been out of spite, anyway. She knew the answer to that one already. 

Naturally, by then, she’d already found a way back towards Villanelle. 

*** 

One would think seeing in colour would make eyesight better, clearer. Yet, to Eve, it seemed to have had the opposite effect. She was so blinded by her chase, in fact, she didn’t realise how much she was changing in the process. After all, she simply wiped her mind clean of any uncomfortable evidence such as firing poor Kenny or almost throwing someone down the underground platform.

Wonderful compartmentalising abilities indeed.

***

Wow.

That was all her mind could provide her with upon looking at Villanelle for the first time since-

She was wearing black, of all colours. Such a non-colour to wear. But Eve knew why and it only made her heart come alive with nervous excitement. The black only made her seem even more vivid in contrast and Eve was sure she knew it, the vain jerk that she was. So, fairly, she couldn’t be judged for taking her time to just look.

_“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”_ said Villanelle, just as Eve’s gaze had dropped to the **red** of her lipstick, and the agent finally understood the book she’d been reading on colour theory, because it’d been described as the colour of _anger_ and _passion_ . She chose to focus on the _anger_ side though, as a manner of preserving her dignity. Although it’s fair to say it didn’t survive very long, starting with her lack of proper champagne glasses and ending with her utter lack of composure whenever the assassin got close to her. (The fact that she very nearly threw up right next to her, on her own kitchen sink was too embarrassing to even think of.)

Afterwards, her emotions turned even redder as she brooded over the little prick letting her believe - even if just briefly - that she in fact had poisoned her, just to laugh it off and whirl Eve into her arms a moment later. So during the whole trip they took together, all eve could see was _anger_ and _passion_ and _violence_ and _desire_ and _blood._ All Eve could see was red.

Such a fitting metaphor for Villanelle, as well.

***

_“She came to see me. She told me what you did. I know you stabbed her and I know she’s your…”_

Eve interrupted him before her biggest fears came out of her husband’s mouth. It was one thing to admit it to herself - and even Kenny - but another thing entirely to bring something like this into their house, into their marriage. Because Bill and Elena were gone and Niko was the only thing still normal about her. If he knew and decided to leave her and pursue Gemma (ugh, stupid Gemma), then her fragile tether to reason would be lost. She’d never known herself without it. And she was scared - no - terrified of the possibilities.

Who was Eve Polastri, _unleashed_? 

Fortunately, she didn’t have to find out that night, as she let him distract her (and punish her for being so disturbed her fate-approved half was someone utterly lacking in empathy). Unfortunately, it all came crashing back the next morning, when he decided to show her exactly how disgusted he truly was with her. So she became a mess, with Guilt front and center, backed by an unhealthy dose of denial.

***

It became a bit repetitious to anyone who was paying attention. Fueled by denial, she’d dive head first into work, only to, inadvertently but surely, turn it into another path toward Villanelle. That naturally made the whole attempt quite redundant and her colleagues quite frustrated. Luckily for Eve, she was categorically **not** paying attention. No, she made sure to focus all her - conscious - energy into trying to reconnect with Niko. (Freud would’ve had a field day with her.) And yet…

… she found herself at the door of her soulmate’s new flat, unable to shake the dazed feeling of having so easy an access to her for the foreseeable future. That only intensified upon hearing the word partner come out of her lips. _And those accent changes..._

… she found herself awkwardly fumbling through work, trying not to be made a complete fool of in front of Carolyn (and Villanelle).

… she found herself listening to Villanelle lay out all of Eve’s issues as though they were her own, making it sound terribly tragic. 

That's how she was eventually made to listen to her soulmate utter the words _“I feel nothing”_ , planting a seed of doubt regarding the psychopaths’ feelings for Eve that she’d been taking for granted all along. Yes, she realised how näive that made her, nevermind her criminal psychology studies. 

(It was odd, though, that such statement unsettled her for longer than watching a woman being thrown in front of a truck had.)

***

As it was, Eve was so bothered by that comment that she did what she always did and threw herself further into work. The fact that Villanelle was the main focus of said work was unfortunate. Because somehow, what had meant to be a perfectly normal morning turned into an all-you-can-eat-buffet of emotional chaos. 

Just a glimpse in the mirror to see the stark contrast between Villanelle’s vibrancy and her own (chosen) dullness. It was no wonder she was able to fool Niko all this time, nothing about her appeared colourful. 

_Looks are deceiving._

_Did Villanelle truly not feel…?_

_Did she see colour? She had to, right?_

Turn around. Stop this nonsense.

_“Are you okay?”_ the assassin sounded truly caring. 

_“I don’t know.”_

_“Do you want to talk about it?”_

" _I really don’t.”_

Except Eve really, really did. So much so, she kept talking even after the blonde fell back into her cheeky persona, though she managed to maintain her cool and collected tone.

_“You know those things you said in the meeting…”_ she began completely nonchalant, only to be overwhelmed by the taller woman’s confession.

_“I feel things when I’m with you”_ the words were said as she leaned closer to Eve. 

And Eve believed her. Even though they were interrupted by, not one, but _two_ one-night-stands that made her understand the expression _green with jealousy_ Eve fully believed her. Something about the shades of hazel flashing in Villanelle’s eyes as she reassured the brunette she wasn’t _really_ with _them_ , gave her this certainty. Nevertheless she was still very jealous and very irritated, so, naturally, she went to work.

***

One night, during her sensible childhood, Eve caught a glimpse of an interview witha a couple who had committed first degree murder. She didn’t remember much more than hearing the interviewer ask one of them whether they were willing to go to such lengths because they could see in colour. The answer had been much too complex for her child self to comprehend, but, for some inane reason, the ending had stayed with her: “since I’ve met him, I’ve been _wide awake_.”

So, Eve figured, since she couldn’t tell Martin the truth without fearing the information might get back to Carolyn, that particular brand of ambiguity came really close to describing it. 

So close, in fact, she wasn't sure he didn't get it.

***

As usual, Martin’s warning didn’t put Eve off of going through with her mission with Villanelle, just like Kenny’s scared face when he “gave her back” her charger hadn’t. Eve was stuck in this limbo of half-truths, this ever growing number of disconnects rooted into this one big new connection. Denial had become her sole defense mechanism against this sea of change and the only way out seemed to be going forward. 

So she went to Rome, because it was her mission to catch that creep. Followed Villanelle to her date with Aaron, just to give her a microphone. Followed every command of her voice in her ear during that night, because… s-she...

_It had felt_ ** _so_** _good_.

***

Her relationship with her body had never been the best. She remembered being around twelve, and feeling the need to hide her lack of curves - or breasts - behind multilayered clothing. (Maybe that had sealed her fate as a "sweater attached to a shirt" kind of girl?) And a year later, when playing _truth or dare_ and _never have I ever_ games were the highlight of any good party, her habit of disguising her oddities in front of her peers had already bled through every aspect of her personality. 

_Truth!_

_Eve, who's your crush?_

_Nobody._

_Eve, how was your first kiss?_

_Boring._

_Eve, do you touch yourself?_

_No. Never._

_Eve, do you have a soulmate?_

_No..._

And, surprisingly enough, past Eve was remarkably truthful.

***

It was tragic, really, that one of the most pleasurable nights of her life would turn into the worst day.

She'd been so peaceful when she woke up, even Hugo's annoyance hadn't been enough to bring her down from her high (part of her busy, wondering how much better it could be in person). Villanelle's use of the safe word had, though, and she was filled with the growingly familiar panic that accompanied the fear for the assassin's safety. When it hit, it was as if all these moments turned into one, no record of an inbetween, as the fear she felt from looking at Villanelle **bleed,** that first time, mixed with the worry she felt upon hearing Peel mistreat her, when waiting to hear from her after her first date with him, upon arriving at Rome… Every experience, whilst ignored as soon as Eve got a modicum of control, only magnified the feeling, turning Eve into the opposite of what she used to be: utterly distraught to the point of irrationality.

At that moment, hiding under the bed had seemed like the right choice (it’s truly a marvel she hadn’t gotten shot sooner that day), as did leaving Hugo with just not even a scribbled emergency note. Not that it was a thing... _emergency notes_...

As she arrived at the Peel’s hotel, she still wasn’t aware of how wrong her choices were. How much she had a hand in leading herself toward tragedy. (It would be a long way to go until she was ready to even consider such a thing.) No, at that point in time, she held Villanelle wholly responsible for the chaos. After being asked whether she thought the assassin could kill her, she’d answered a quiet _yes_ , both because she thought she was capable of such an act and because she thought that was what she wanted to hear. Somehow, she’d trusted her regardless.

Carolyn betrayed her, betrayed both of them, and Eve chose Villanelle, assuming they were finally on the same page. She got over how humiliated she was to learn she’d been a pawn in the secret agent’s game because she told herself it had brought her and Villanelle together. (For someone who chose to disregard the whole soulmate concept from the beginning, Eve sure did rely on it quite a bit). She was reluctantly optimistic but absolutely determined to keep going forward.

***

Then there was **red** . So much **Red.**

Real and palpable and splashing everywhere. 

There had been a thrill, at first, whenever her eyes caught a glimpse of the colour. It had been the first one to grasp her attention, after all, back when she was still holding onto the grey. It had been the one she conjured behind her eyes whenever she thought about Villanelle. She’d enjoyed it, then.

But this, in front of her, was too much **red**.

She wasn’t ready for this.

She did it because of that feeling - that fear she was starting to think would forever live in her mind, underneath all the logic she’d accumulated over the years -, it had turned into sheer panic when she’d glimpsed at the other woman’s reddening face. Everything had gone silent and she’d known what she had to do. (Eve’d felt so powerful, for a second there.)

But she hit him in the shoulder and Villanelle was no longer in imminent danger, she was screaming and the pressure went up so high, Eve couldn’t think, just act! And suddenly every other colour in the world was engulfed by **red**.

Eve was confused, traumatised, but _still_ , she'd trusted Villanelle to lead her way out of it all. There was something brewing in the back of her mind, something she was too dazed to pinpoint until it was violently brought to the surface by the _gun_ in the other woman’s hand.

_“Do it!”_

_“He will kill us.”_

_“Pretend he is a LOG!”_

She saw red again, but for a different reason, so she decided she was done with this stupid soulmate route. She’d never been comfortable with the idea of _fate_ deciding anything about her life, therefore it made no sense that the mere addition of colours would lead her astray. That was all that it was - all it could be -, she’d taken a wrong turn merely because she’d been distracted by all the new, pretty sights, there was nothing about Villanelle that fascinated her on its own. To think she’d thought they’d been on the same page and really, she’d been...

_“I’m proud of you.”_

She’d been a pawn twice over. To Carolyn and to Villanelle as well. 

_"You love me.”_

At that point in time, all she had felt was an all consuming anger overcoming any good feelings she might’ve ever had for the blonde. 

_"I love you.”_

Hah! She didn’t know what that was.

_"You’re mine!”_

Fuck no. 

There was no possible way forward with that psychopath. She was going backw-

Home.

She was going hom-

All of a sudden, there was only **black**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo... if anyone got through all of this introspection and is actually reading this author's note... thank you?! 
> 
> I really struggled with this chapter because, as much as I adore S2, it was way less self contained than S1. Add that to the fact we're inside Eve's mind while she's mostly in denial and you get this big, messy canon patchwork. I'm still sorry it was so heavy on the canon, though...
> 
> Also I do accept constructive criticism, especially since this is my first writing project both in this fandom and in this decade.
> 
> Anyway, I do have something of a character arc planned for Eve in the third part, so this was a necessary evil. 
> 
> ( :


	3. Prism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As her world opened up, so did her perception of colours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, on tuesday I though, "Gee, I've already gotten most of this chapter done, I shall actually post it on time..."
> 
> Then I went and wrote 2k+ more words... oops?

After the shooting, Eve had time to think about everything, over and over again. At first, when she was still in the hospital in Italy because she wasn’t well enough to fly, she kept reliving their confrontation, feeling angry and helpless. But then, they do say time heals all, don’t they? 

And so it did, turning her bright red anger into pastel pink and the searing pain of her shoulder into a phantom awareness. She healed and went back home. And she started to understand Villanelle’s absolute shock at such an idea, because she didn’t have a home anymore. Niko had been the only one left, and he was as good as gone - too traumatised after her soulmate killed his, to even look at her for more than a couple of minutes. 

Honestly, Eve was surprised to open her eyes and see colour, still. 

Damn, she was surprised to open her eyes. Period.

They were decidedly more opaque, though, the colours. But she didn’t mind, it was reassuring to have proof of what had happened to her. And it fit her mood. 

She was a forty eight unemployed bitch who was recovering from a gunshot wound, given to her by her own soulmate. Any semblance of reason, of normality, was just a faint memory. Old Eve was gone and there was no one left in her life who would miss her...

What a _relief_!

The former agent only realized how much holding herself to society’s standards was weighing her down right then, when they were suddenly gone.

_“You have no idea how much harder it is to be nice and normal and decent, than it is to be like you.”_

_“Like us, you mean.”_

Somehow, as Eve let go of it all and holed herself up in a tiny apartment in New Malden - England, that started to happen more and more often. She’d be making dumplings whilst listening to her coworker’s pathetic attempt at a love life, when a memory would rush to the forefront of her mind, forcing her to examine it from a different light.

So what if she wasn’t nice and normal and decent either?

_The world wasn’t nice and normal._

Most people were worthless bastards, anyway, so she no longer felt like spending huge amounts of energy to pretend for them. 

Starting with that little prick fate decided to throw her way.

But also Carolyn and Konstantin and Niko and that korean cashier who’d been gushing about her honeymoon trip to Italy. Everyone.

Except, maybe, Kenny?

***

Seeing the faint shade of Kenny’s blood scared Eve more than being shot. Then, there’d only been shock. This she could watch from the outside, his paleness made worse by the state of her vision. 

(She was so scared that, for the first time in months, she actually made an effort to get Niko to talk with her properly.)

***

Her newfound recklessness took her a long way, especially regarding Carolyn Martens. There was no describing how good it felt to tell her no - or rather scream NO, really. 

Until she brought _her_ up and Eve’s vision flashed so bright it made her nauseous. Thankfully she was able to hold back until her ex-boss was gone, before throwing up. She was grateful (not at all disappointed) to see the colours fade to their lighter tones a moment later.

***

She was sucked back in, and for the first time, it was mostly out of a sense of justice. Kenny had been the last decent human she knew and he didn’t deserve to have his death labeled a suicide, just like Bill didn’t deserve his last act to be getting mugged on a nightclub in Berlin…well, apparently, Kenny she could do something about.

And since Eve was working on being honest with herself more often, she had to acknowledge that having a reason to get out of bed that wasn’t making dumplings was actually really nice. All she needed to do to keep this new (freer) tether to reality - one that was actually rooted in self worth, rather than appearances -, was stay _far_ , _far away_ from Villanelle. 

***

So, of course, she materialized right there on the bus Eve took every day to work.

_“Hi, Eve.”_

Villanelle was so cocky, it would’ve made her furious if the way her vision came alive upon first glance hadn’t already sealed her fate. 

It was all _wrong_. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Eve was done with this bullshit. She didn’t need a visual reminder of how much she obviously still felt for the woman; her rapid heartbeat, at least, could be explained away as mere anger.

She wanted - no - needed to eviscerate this freaking bitch, for daring to come back and destroy every little bit of progress, of independence, Eve had taken so long to conquer. So she did. 

Every hit made her pulse faster and her vision brighter. She’d forgotten how addictive this Villanelle fulled high could be. And then she was being pushed back onto a bench and she could feel her _everywhere_ , her body pinned underneath the taller woman, feeling her only slightly laboured breathing. 

_“Smell me, Eve. What do I smell of to you?”_

She smelled intense, just like she felt, just like she looked. It was overwhelming Eve’s senses, which had already been on overload just from seeing the assassin, turning her into an undefined pile of want.

_Sight…_

_Smell…_

_Touch…_

The only thing missing had been…

_Taste._

Since neither closed their eyes, Eve allowed herself to get lost in this loop of _feeling_ , where the colour of Villanelle’s eyes only highlighted the softness of her lips, just as the power of her perfume seemed to envelope her smooth skin, the younger woman’s breathing now harder than Eve’s…

Much like the fear she used to feel, that moment challenged the bounds of time, though it couldn’t have lasted for longer than five seconds. And just like that fear, Eve could masterfully suppress it so quickly, it gave her whiplash. (It probably gave them both whiplash.)

In this particular instance, it also gave her a bruised eye, some regret and a distinctly - but unfortunately - brighter world.

***

If anyone had cornered her and asked why she couldn’t stay at her old apartment anymore, she would have lied - her new and improved relationship with the truth be damned. It would be the sensible thing to do, saying that an international assassin knew where she lived, that she was scared for her life. No one asked though, so she’d had no reason to delve into her own pathetic reasons for it. It would have been truly awful, giving voice to the corner of her mind that was so disturbingly obsessed, it would forever be waiting for Villanelle’s next visit. ~~(Checking twice to see if she’d packed the little pink heart was just as desperate, though.)~~ Besides, that gave her time to focus on Kenny’s murder invetigation.

***

It was Eve’s birthday, and she was now a forty nine year old bitch who’d gotten a pretend job at _The Bitter Pill_ and whose personal hygiene was severely lacking.

It was her birthday, and Villanelle bought her a cake, a gift she was happy to receive, in spite of everything. 

A London Bus, famously **red** cake. Both the anger she felt at the killer’s untimely disruption of her new normal and all the negative memories the colour summoned blinded her for an instant, leading her to throw it down the edge of the roof. She was bitterly disappointed before it’d even hit the ground.

Still, it was her birthday and Niko finally texted her back after having left for Poland without warning. She’d been anxious to hear from him, even as she came to grips with the fact there wasn’t a single part of her actively invested in their relationship. Clearly, she’d once again lost her ground with Villanelle’s big entrance back in her life, so Eve was coming to realise she loved the stability he represented more than ever. 

_“It’s all about choices.”_ Jamie had said to her and she’d said it back to him, fully believing she should go back to making reasonable choices, even as she felt the _guilt_ and the _responsibility_ settling their familiar weight upon her shoulder.

Perhaps they were the price to pay in order to stop people from dropping dead all around her. What if it was karma?

***

_Fucking_ goddamned _karma_.

Right. She wished it was karma.

As if Eve had any choice left regarding people dying around her. 

Seeing her husband of fifteen years drop to the ground was terrifying, making her dizzy with plain _terror_. She felt all of the resentment she had for him being lifted, leaving only sorrow and memories in its wake. It no longer seemed relevant, the boredom and the miscommunication they both dragged through their marriage, although she would concede to being responsible for most of it. As she followed him to the ground, all she could see were the good times and all she could feel was despair.

However, a tiny, shameful part of her couldn’t help but take notice of how different this was, to the panic that overcame her when she thought Villanelle was in danger. Because of this, it took her awhile to realise there was still something to be done. Niko was, against all logic, still breathing. It took even longer for her to get him proper medical attention.

But he survived.

***

As she sat next to him in his hospital bed, Eve was ashamed to admit it had been years since she’d chosen to spend time with him of her own free will. There’d been a constant thread of _guilt_ and _pity_ and _obligation_ going through their interactions, which inevitably led to _resentment_ and _gaslighting_ and _blame_. And any other day, Eve might (would) have pinpointed Villanelle as the main culprit for the downfall of her marriage. (God, she would have jumped to assumptions and been out of her mind with rage, after finding that hateful little note attached to the pitchfork.) 

Nevertheless, something about this entire experience had brought her together inside. She no longer believed she had to be sensible or nice in order to fit into the world. No, she had stared at said world’s face, and seen the _ugly_. She’d lost everything she once held dear, and come out on the other side. The world was as dark as her worst impulses, and yet... there could be light in it as well. During that terrifying moment she watched her husband fall, she had been able to face great grief while simultaneously being comforted by the lightness of their earlier years - a lightness she’d thought had been lost to her forever. 

Maybe both dark and light could co-exist inside of her. 

Maybe being attuned to her own desires was necessary in order to access such lightness again.

So Eve was no longer ruled by the laws of society’s prejudice nor was she limited to the impulsivity of her darkest desires. There was harmony in its place. 

(It was an invaluable present, this enlightenment her soon to be ex-husband had inadvertently gifted her. It would be petty not to take his robotic _PISS OFF FOREVER_ in stride, even as she’d hoped for a better parting.)

***

With that understanding in place, it was astonishing how easy it was to figure out what she really wanted. And it turned out to be just three things: 

  1. finding out who murdered her last remaining friend,
  2. find out who had attempted to kill her husband,
  3. and find her soulmate. 



Not necessarily in that order. 

It seemed as soon as Eve came to terms with her own desires, the universe decided to conspire in her favour, seeing as getting one wish ended up leading the way to another. 

***

As her world opened up, so did her perception of colours. It wasn't limited to splashes of **red** anymore - be it expected or avoided. Now, when confronting Dasha at the bowling alley, Eve felt powerful and confident in a new calmer way, bringing to her mind a dark shade of **blue**. She also thought it amusing that everything about the handler was overstated, from her attempt at bowling to the gold she was wearing, whilst she, in humble brown, managed to get everything she wanted from that meeting. 

***

All Eve needed to do was look for the remains of the box from the bus cake her other half had sent her (yes, in the bin), get the bakery's name and have Bear illegally acquire information on its clients' locations based on their credit card usage. 

Easy peasy.

All joking aside, following Villanelle was as natural as breathing. Finding Dasha gasping for air on the floor was not. However, upon confirmation of her murderous intent, Eve found stepping on her to be new, but exciting. Challenging. Promising…

(It was **blue** again, not the desperation of **red**.)

***

That time, when she found Konstantin lying there on the floor, she made sure help was on the way before letting her tunnel vision take control. That was progress. The fact that she didn't feel sorry for walking away this time could be taken either way...

As she ran, her mind was completely empty, only focused on reaching Villanelle, just like their story had started. Glimpsing at a flash of waiving **green** felt both over and underwhelming, like she was a kid at christmas night who fell asleep on the couch just when she thought she’d heard a noise coming from the chimney. It was fitting, wasn't it? That she found a semblance of wonder again, over forty years after becoming a certified skeptical. 

(Pay no mind to her new Santa looking a lot closer to the Grinch.)

And then her phone was ringing…

_"We have got to stop running into each other like this, it's not good for both of us."_

It stopped her midstep, hearing that familiar russian accent again for the first time since... the bus? (And it wasn't because she'd spent many nights listening to her recording while telling herself she _didn't_ wish she was there.) In fact, both their voices sounded changed. She knew, of course, what made herself different, but Villanelle?

_"No, it isn't. What do you suggest?"_ Eve asked, after clearing her throat.

_"Will you meet me? I think it needs to be said in person…"_ she sounded so uncertain, Eve could barely conjure a picture of her to match her tone.

_"Yes, of course."_ She answered eagerly.

_“Okay.”_ Was that relief? _“I’ll text you the time and place, then…”_

This too had changed, Eve realised as she hung up: her razor sharp focus on the blonde was now grounded in care, not hate.

***

As soon as she saw Villanelle, she knew something was wrong. They met at a ballroom, of all places, the blonde as stylish as ever in a patterned suit. It was colourful but it made her look pale, this time.

_“Hi”_ Eve started.

_“Hi”_ was her simple response.

They exchanged _pleasantries_ , and her worry grew even more.

_“Why here?”_ Eve tried to understand.

_“I did my first ever kill in this country here…”_ and Villanelle went on to explain who the victim had been, completely honest, but what she said next spooked Eve the most. _“Imagine if I’d refused? What do you think I’d have become?... interior designer, maybe…”_

The former agent had to bite her tongue in order to not say she’d likely be dead, so she said the next thing that came to her mind.

_“If you had, it would have saved me a lot of heartache.”_

When that didn’t get a reaction, she tried something real. 

_“Niko’s in hospital. Dasha stabbed him through the neck and blamed it on you.”_

Still nothing. Her heart was pounding harder with each failed attempt at helping the woman, desperately needing to be able to do something to ease the pain written all over her delicate features.

_“Are you listening to me?”_ the question was asked so softly, she barely recognized her own voice.

_“Do you ever think about the past?”_ the blonde finally brought her out of her misery.

It took her a little time to think carefully about her answer. Villanelle clearly needed to get something off her chest, and against all odds, it was Eve she was trusting with it. She couldn’t mess it up.

_“All the time… it is all I think about.”_

It was the truth. She was constantly thinking about the people she’d lost in her journey to become who she was today, about her past self and her endless limitations. Mostly, though, she thought about a more recent past, one filled with her and Villanelle’s endless clashings. She was over regret, though, such a useless emotion...

_“It’s nice to watch them.”_ The russian’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. _“They seem happy… carefree…”_

_“Well, dancing will do that…”_

_“I want to feel like that.”_

Surely, Eve knew from her first glance that the other woman was not okay, but hearing her outwardly admit to wanting something so simple - seeing her choose to be vulnerable - prompted an outburst of _“What happened?”._

She didn’t know if she would have gotten an answer or not, since they were interrupted by the waiter, but seeing the blonde doing everything to stop the tears from spilling finally pushed her into action. After all, she’d gotten a clue as to how she could help the assassin get over this depressive state, at last.

_“Come on, then.”_

In a way, it was better than the kiss. Even though neither could really dance, it just felt _amazing_ , being able to rest together. Instead of having her senses overwhelm her and leave her exposed and reactive - like a bare wire - she was blissful but relaxed, leaving room for actual words to pass between them long enough to forge a connection.

_“Do you want to be like that?”_

Eve didn’t have to think to know the answer to that one. _“Not anymore.”_

Growing old together had lost its appeal right along with all her other fantasies of normalcy. Besides, she’d be old a lot sooner than Villanelle. She’d never give the tall woman the pleasure of hearing her say that, though, so she settled for _“We’d never make it that long, we’d consume each other before we got old.”_

_“That sounds kind of nice.”_

Hmm. It really did. 

_“I’ve killed so many people, Eve.”_

She sounded scared again, but she needn’t be. Eve was done seeing the world in **black** and **white**.

***

Because nothing this good could last forever, they were soon interrupted. Eve had wanted to reassure her with more than a soft _“I know”_ , but the way the younger woman had sunk into her embrace reassured her she’d gotten the message through. What wasn’t reassuring was what came after, as the open woman in front of her closed up in a flash, leaving her with the unexpected mission of assuring their freedom.

That irrational - albeit, in this case, probably rational - fear showed its ugly head. But Eve was in control now, she knew what she had to do. She’d have to trust Villanelle to be able to uphold her own end of the deal.

***

As it turned out, she didn't have much time to worry about it as she got to the address written down on the note Villanelle had given her: _Bridgeway Bets._ After convincing the cockney woman - Shanon - that she was an insane comedian wannabe, failing to bribe said woman and giving herself an absurd pseudonym (Tallulah Shark, really?!), Eve was finally able to talk to Bruce, the establishment's owner. 

It wasn't all shame, though. Being able to say _"I'm not a very nice lady"_ was incredibly satisfying. Actually, it was only after saying it that she was able to realise how much she needed to acknowledge that out loud. It might've been stuck somewhere in her vocal cords since Niko's _"You're one of the best people I know."_ She was happy to notice thoughts like this were void of resentment, now she recognised how much of herself she'd kept away.

And then there were more pressing worries to deal with, like Konstantin's sob story and holding on to the package. ( _Villanelle_ had asked for her help.) Mostly, Konstantin seemed to Eve to be something of a regular annoyance, so it was surprising to feel genuine worry when he felt ill. She suspected embracing the darkness gave her permission not to care, which, paradoxically, seemed to have made space for real emotion to flourish - be it care or affection or something else.

For Konstantin, though, Eve felt simple worry and annoyance. An annoyance that grew with every sentence he uttered to Villanelle on the phone.

_“Will you please please tell your friend to give me what’s mine?”_

When did anyone begin referring to them as _friends_?

_“What the hell are you doing getting her involved?”_

Ugh.

_“Tell her to hand it over now.”_

No way in hell.

_“Meet us, now.”_

Eve decided to embrace her smugness but ignore the thrill she felt at meeting Villanelle soon. (When would that stop happening?)

***

After a change of plans brought by a mysterious phone call, Eve was suddenly dropped into an alternate universe where it somehow made sense that her (ex-)boss was pointing a gun to her soulmate's ex-handler for killing her son - Kenny?! -, all the while having a supposed twelve member sitting in the room with them. Eve would have thought it a nightmare were it not for the faint but constant awareness of Villanelle's presence next to her. And for the confirmation that she had, in fact, killed Dasha.

Between shock and horror, the latter won, and when Carolyn pulled the trigger on Paul and not Konstantin it grew into a state of disbelieving outrage. 

_How dare Carolyn kill the one thing that could eventually lead them to truth?_

(Maybe even their permanent freedom?)

Eve needed some air.

***

Eve’s mind was a mess. 

The confidence she’d been carrying ever since she found herself had been overshadowed by the confusion brought by the overflow of stimuli from moments before. (So had the bliss from dancing with Villanelle, earlier that day.) Every jumbled thought in her head was accompanied by its own mash of colour and feeling…

_Konstantin killed Kenny_ \- the angry **red** was back.

_Carolyn killed a member of the Twelve_ \- the frustration of **purple** made itself known.

_I killed Dasha._ \- the increasingly familiar **blue** , now mixed with the power of **black**.

Soon, Eve felt Villanelle approach - as she knew she would - and blurted out the last thought she’d had.

Hearing the blonde contradict her assumption was barely registered by Eve’s overstimulated brain, so she kept on talking, needing to share her experience with someone. With her. 

_“Then I guess we both did. Isn’t that romantic?”_

Eve hadn’t gone so far off the rails that she didn’t realise how fucked up that statement was but she could no longer deny her the truth, so she replied with _“Do you know who the only people who would think that are? Us.”_. 

Her honesty was rewarded by the assassin’s own startling truth, _“I don’t want to do it anymore…”_.

If Eve went back to playing games with herself, she’d deny how frustrated that sentence made her, not because she wanted her to be a killer, but because it spoke of undeniable change and it was all making her feel like there was no ground underneath her feet, more so than anytime before. So she wondered out loud.

_“What happened to us? I used to be like them…”_

And in true Villanelle fashion she began by making light of the situation, but eventually responded with a certain _“You were_ never _like them. You only thought you were.”_

Yes, the brunette had come to terms with the darkest shades of her personality. That didn’t mean she was ready to accept her whole past was a lie. (What even is the truth anyway, when time stretches every experience so thin, one can shape it to mean anything they want? Much like the way a prism can disperse light into every colour it composes.) So she countered…

_“No! I had a life. I had a husband, and a house… and a- chicken.”_

_“Do you still want that stuff?”_

Eve didn’t. Not really. But she also didn’t want to feel so unstable anymore. And yet, if that was the price to pay to be with her, she thought she might choose to pay it. Because…

_“When I try to think of my future, I just see your face over and over again.”_

One could always trust that woman to cut the tension with a joke. It made her all the more endearing, especially when it was so clearly a defense mechanism. Villanelle had been falling apart all day and her next question made the reason known.

_“Did I ruin your life? Do you think I’m a monster?”_

And so Eve could finally put her insight into words, trying to help both herself and Villanelle out of this hole they’d both crawled into. They already knew how their darkness worked well together, now Eve wanted to find their light. But in order to do that, they needed to take control of the monsters, they needed to make them stop, and she wasn’t entirely convinced it was possible. 

_“Help me. Help me make it stop.”_

_"So no more tea dances?"_ The tall woman’s teasing told Eve it was okay, that she could trust her judgement, even if she herself was skeptical of the outcome. _“If that’s really what you want, it’s not difficult.”_

Yeah, right.

_“You’re gonna tell me to jump?”_ Eve teased back, feeling comfort in dark humor.

_“No, of course not. You’d die if you jumped.”_ The condescending tone would irritate her if she didn’t know Villanelle was joking. Suddenly, the russian was serious, _“it’s easier than that.”_

Sadly, skepticism had always been Eve’s middle name.

Still, she trusted Villanelle, so she followed in her steps.

_“Stand up straight. Stand up straight and look at me.”_

Her heart started beating faster.

_“Now turn around and face the other way.”_

What?

_“I’ll turn this way…”_

Uh _..._

_“Have you turned? I can’t see you”_

Okay, then…

As she did, she was rewarded by Villanelle resting against her for the second time that day, so she decided to follow through, even as something heavy started forming in her chest. _“Now what?”_

_“Now we walk, and we never look back.”_

Wait, that was not what she’d meant. _“But I-I-”_

_“Don’t turn. Just walk.”_ Her voice sounded so sure as she quickly stepped away, Eve felt she had no choice but to comply.

So she followed in her steps, even though she didn’t want to, through the heaviness in her chest and the burn in her eyes. 

She followed... 

...until she didn’t.

Immediately after turning around, Eve realised the ridiculousness of their situation. 

She needn’t have feared they wouldn’t find their way to lightness... it was obviously already there. 

  
Wrapped in **yellow** , Villanelle no longer exhibited the _violence_ of **red** . On the contrary, when she too turned, her face radiated something closer to _hope_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's a wrap!
> 
> You know how last time I blamed S2's scattered writing for being so wordy? Now I'm blaming the lack of Eve on S3. (It gave me sooo much room to play with.) That being said, I'm still really sorry about the the amount of canon stuff BUT, like, how can you resist the bus scene? or the tea dance scene?? or the BRIDGE scene??! But I digress... 
> 
> On a different note, I've become quite addicted to writing and I do have a bunch of notes on V's side of this. But I'll never finish it in time for KE week (I'm learning this lesson the hard way, lol). So what I'm asking is... would anyone still be interested in even more introspection delivered in completely the wrong timing? No? Forget I asked... *hides self in shame*
> 
> Lastly, since I'm already making a fool of myself online anyway, I've recently been trying to get over my internet-specific social phobia by actually using tumblr, so if any of you are still on that website, my username is unusualcliches.
> 
> Thank you for reading
> 
> ( :


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